Primitive, Male
by TrinityWildcat
Summary: Sienna never did answer Bobby's question that night in the storehouse... Short sequel to 'Army Fatigues'.


**Primitive, Male. **

**Summary**: The morning after the events of 'Army Fatigues', Bobby reflects on being male.

**Rating**: M

**Author's Notes, Part the First**: This turned out way more sexy than I was expecting. But sometimes, your characters just run away with you. I blame Vincent D'Onofrio. He's too damn sexy for any straight woman's good.

**Soundtrack**: Not original, but I was listening to Maroon 5's 'Sunday Morning' and 'This Love' (album 'Songs About Jane'), then Embrace's 'A Glorious Day' (album 'Out of Nothing') in more or less that order when writing this. All other suggestions for appropriate songs welcome.

As he staggered up from the bed, buck naked, Bobby Goren winced and was glad his partner was still blissfully asleep. His legs, back, arms and pretty much all of his muscles were reminding him forcibly that he was no longer the twenty-year-old soldier he'd once been, and that if he insisted on running up and down steep cliffs playing the hero, then staying up all night with an energetic and attractive young redhead, he could expect to feel like hell in the morning. He made it across the small bedroom with a few winces and curses along the way, and was glad that the room was warm and that it had an ensuite bathroom, albeit a very basic one. The light through the room's thin green curtains indicated that it was going to be a gorgeous sunny summer day, the storm that had battered the Army base for the past two nights having finally passed.

On his way out of the tiny bathroom in the temporary Army accommodation they were staying in, he paused and leaned on the doorframe, partly because his legs really were extremely sore for various reasons (well, one in particular), but mainly so that he could admire the woman asleep on the bed in front of him. Sienna Tovitz was fast asleep, snoring gently with her back turned to him, although truth be told it was not her back he was most interested in admiring… she was completely naked and the early morning sunlight through the gap in the curtains was highlighting the curves of her hips and narrow waist, picking out russet highlights in her hair. As he watched, she stirred slightly, looking slightly puzzled and frowning, and feeling around for the covers. She was obviously getting cold. Well, he couldn't have that.

He hustled back over to the bed and wriggled onto it, wrapping his large body around her small one, spooning behind her and gently working his arm under her head and beneath her neck, so that she was resting against him, cradled in his arms. She smiled faintly, and relaxed against him, once more fast asleep in the position they'd spent much of the night in. Not all though… he let his mind drift back across the past ten hours, beginning with their carefully sneaking into the temporary accommodation the Army had lent them, her room, since hers had a double bed and his didn't.

His mind moved on to the shower they'd taken together, her giggling as he carefully washed her hair, big hands slick with soap stroking down her neck and shoulders and across her body, him picking her up and carrying her across to the bed, the two of them entwining, warmth and hands and mouths, together in the moonlight from the window, her eagerness in exploring every inch of him… yes, that had been a pleasant discovery. He lived through his own senses in a way that he knew most other people did not, and to be in bed with someone who was not only willing to indulge his exploration of her body, but who seemed to share the same fascination with a new partner, the same keenness to learn every scent, every sensitive place, every little sound or cry of joy rather than just going for the obvious places… mmm yes, a very pleasant night, ending in them sleeping entwined together, her pressing herself against him, tucking his arm over her as if he were a blanket she was trying to wrap round herself for warmth and security. Admittedly he'd wondered once or twice if he was quite doing it for her, but she _seemed_ to be enjoying it… he'd have to carefully check that if they did it again. Very thoroughly indeed, gather the evidence, examine it carefully and check again if required…

He was distantly aware that there was a world out there. Specifically, an Army base which the two of them would have to leave shortly, after first presumably having breakfast with Sienna's boss, Tim Whitefield, yes, that _was_ going to be interesting. Not their other temporary colleague, Andrew Davenport, though. Bobby always slept lightly in a strange room, and at one point during the night he'd awoken to hear familiar footsteps pattering along the corridor outside their room, footsteps that had obviously been made by someone about six feet tall (as indicated by the length of stride), thin for his height (as indicated by the lightness of the steps) and in pain from injured ribs and probably the hangover from hell (as indicated by frequent pauses to lean against the wall). He also remembered Sienna stirring awake, murmuring that she'd heard someone outside, and when he'd reassured her, her muttering "Davenport, you nosy bastard, go catch your flight back to England" and going to sleep.

She had a point there; the British spy had definitely paused for longer than he probably needed to outside Sienna's room, probably listening to hear if he could pick up two people breathing inside the room. Bobby chuckled at Sienna's reaction, whilst admitting that he'd probably have done the same thing himself through sheer ingrained curiosity. He wrapped himself more tightly around her, forgetting the world outside entirely in the sheer pleasure of a warm, breathing, female body in his arms. He hadn't felt like this, this abandonment of his continual awareness of the world around him, mind busy with the next problem to solve, next case to tackle, for a very long time, even in his most recent encounters with women. Why now? Why her?

_Because you've dropped your guard_, he realised wryly. Normally, it was easy to keep these things simple, uncomplicated. He'd never found it that difficult to find women who were after exactly the same thing he was, uncomplicated pleasure, simple, enjoyable, maybe breakfast together afterwards, but always understood on both sides that it would never be a serious thing, all surface, no involvement. The mating dance, twenty-first century style, and no bad thing for all that.

What had happened between him and Sienna had been totally different. In twenty-four hours, they'd met, tentatively forged a working relationship, found themselves plunged into a situation neither of them had expected and forced to work together, first to save innocent lives, then to save their own and their colleagues from the rogue CIA agent Daniel Smith. He'd found himself admiring her quick mind, her ability to think on her feet, and later, in that wretched Jeep ride back to the base, her undoubted attractiveness. She might never be called beautiful – her features weren't quite fine enough – but that curvy figure, pleasant face and instantly-obvious intelligence and humour added up to a very tempting combination. And when _she'd_ propositioned _him_… well, he'd spent that evening wondering if she would, or if she'd just decide that it wasn't a good idea, and when she'd finally worked up the nerve to ask him to kiss her… primitive instinct had taken over on both sides. For sheer physical pleasure, it had been a very enjoyable night indeed, but physical pleasure alone wasn't usually enough to induce this state of relaxedness in him, this urge to just lie there and watch his partner sleep without any desire to wake her, or get up and do something. Part of it was tiredness, but… but…

But… all the sex in the world, he reflected, no matter how pleasurable or frantic or physically intense, could quite satisfy the need to wake up and find the woman you'd slept with in your arms, to look at her and reflect that she would still be there the next day, and the day after that, onward and onward. Usually, when he thought that, he'd just push it away from him with a flip comment, like _Yeah, but if I had that I'd be late to work every morning_, or _Yeah, that would last up until I came home late from working with Eames on a tough case for the fifth time that week and found a note saying she'd run off with the pizza delivery guy_. He'd push it away because it would be too painful to take it seriously, even though now, more than ever, it was nagging at him. Usually he could do that, but the sheer unexpectedness and intensity of the last ten hours had knocked his mind off course, and he was unable to stop his thoughts running along tracks he usually avoided.

Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he thought thoughts that he normally never allowed into his head, usually keeping them locked safely away. Whoever said men had no biological clock… didn't know the first thing about men. He was only too aware that if he ever wanted children, he was fast approaching the age when he'd better have them, or risk getting too old to see them grown up. He was equally aware that, bluntly, he was also reaching the stage where most women his own age would either struggle to have children naturally, would already have them and not want to go through the whole thing again, or would have never wanted them in the first place.

If he ever wanted children… who was he kidding? He could never risk it, never risk passing on the illness that had taken his mother from him, or, perhaps worse, risk starting a family and then having it strike him, doing to his children knowingly what had been done to him unwittingly. The alternatives flitted through his head… _you could find a woman with children, someone you loved, whose kids you could raise as your own… donor father, physically like you, but without the flaws in your genes… you could adopt_… but he always pushed them away, thinking _no time for that, I'd have to give up my job, not fair on them_… never quite acknowledging to himself that the same arguments applied to having children of his own. Why on earth was he thinking this now, anyway?

His subconscious, which appeared to have woken up on the wrong side of the bed, replied _You're holding a beautiful naked young woman with curves that would probably have inspired a new fertility cult in more primitive times, who's just let you make love to her three times in ten hours, and who would by now probably be carrying your child if it weren't for the twin wonders of latex and the Pill. Why do you _think_, Bobby boy? _Hmmph. Right, from now on he was concentrating purely on the here and now, useless thoughts of the future, families and fertility pushed aside. That left him with lying there naked, holding a naked woman, in a borrowed bed with the distant sounds of an Army base waking up in the background and most of his muscles aching. If he ignored the aching muscles and indeed everything but the mutual nakedness, he could actually feel very satisfied at Sienna's relaxedness, her warmth, even her trust in him. She was so very much smaller than he, although admittedly pretty much every woman he'd ever been to bed with had been. But even so, it was very satisfying, holding her like this, protecting her, almost.

Yes, there was a certain primitive satisfaction in that feeling of masculine protectiveness, he thought. Not very politically correct, of course. In his everyday life, Eames would kick his ass in about three seconds if she ever suspected he was 'protecting' her, assuming that, because she merely happened to be less physically strong than he, that she was in some way less capable. Sienna, too, probably… she was so very concerned to prove herself in what was still in many ways a man's world, particularly when it came to positions of responsibility. But still, there you were, male instinct was strong and right now it was saying "hold this woman, keep her warm and let her feel safe". To judge by her sleepy, relaxed body, he was doing that just fine.

He glanced down at her and noticed the bite mark on her shoulder, memento of their first coupling in the Army storehouse, with a slight wince. He knew he should probably feel ashamed about that, but in all truth, he felt more ashamed of the fact that he felt no shame about it at all, that part of him was inwardly shouting to any other males she might happen to meet in the next few days, "You see that, huh? You see that? My woman. Mine. Already taken. Keep your hands off, she's already got a mate, oh yes, and I don't share well with others." Ridiculous, of course, but there you were. If sex ever made sense, his job would be infinitely easier, if probably a lot more boring.

He let his eyes roam freely over her sleeping form, revealed to him clearly now in the daylight, not glimpsed by dim storehouse bulb or moonlight or fluorescent bathroom striplight. He noticed with interest that she didn't seem to shave at all, fine downy red hair across her arms and legs. He smiled with amusement; it made her look like nothing so much as a small marmalade cat, curling up in the warmth for a nap. She had the green eyes for it too, and yes, she certainly did purr if stroked in the right way. He looked at her figure next. It represented an interesting cross between, on the one hand, an obvious commitment to exercise and health (strong, toned arms and legs, clear skin under all those freckles, soft glossy red hair) and, on the other, genetics and probably a slight fondness for donuts and refined carbohydrates (soft curves of hip and breast, ever-so-slightly rounded belly and what she'd probably call cellulite, and what a man would call nice womanly thighs).

She must have gone through a growth spurt when she was younger, he mused, fingers lightly trailing across her hips and back, tracing the fine silvery stretch lines, imaging that waist narrowing, legs lengthening, hips and butt rounding out, developing those beautiful full breasts that fit nicely into the palms of his hands…

She stirred awake, mumbling roughly, "So, are you going to look at me all morning, or do you think you could pick me out of the ID parade yet?" She wriggled slightly, turning towards him and rolling onto her back, looking him in the face with slightly puffy, sleepy eyes, and a look of faint satisfaction mixed with hunger. Well, he was certainly ready for a repeat performance; his leg muscles might be sore, but the rest of him was in full working order.

"We don't usually do our ID parades naked," he replied, and was gratified to see her giggle, and wriggle further over and into his embrace. Her mouth came up to join his, first kiss of the morning, and never mind the fact that he hadn't shaved and neither of them had showered, their scent in the bedclothes and the air around them. "You've _got_ to come back to New York," he murmured, holding her just a little closer, feeling her heartbeat against his chest.

She looked him straight in the eyes, and he inwardly grinned to see the familiar Sienna there, that wry humorous smile, that "I know what I think and I WILL stand up for it" determination in those sparkling green eyes.

"I can't, not this weekend. I'd like to, believe me… but it won't go down at all well with Tim Whitefield if I say that I'd like to fly back with him to the East European language translation division and start our debriefing following the end of the Shorokogat operation, but sadly I have to stay in New York and screw Bobby Goren's brains out."

He laughed to hear her say that, her giggles joining his, then she took a deep breath. "But I WILL come to New York soon. Within the next month, one way or the other."

He couldn't resist smiling, a wide, relaxed, joyous smile he rarely ever used. Suddenly, she sprang up from the bed, still naked and with the traces of their lovemaking across her skin… "I'm hungry. Let's go shower, and go eat." She held out a hand, and he took it, not needing it, but letting her pull him up from the bed, rising onto his feet and towering over her, following her to the shower where she was already rooting through her bag, hunting for soap and shampoo.

For the first time in years, all concerns forgotten, he felt like singing.


End file.
